


Trilogy

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 09:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Originally posted for the 2015 Phryne Ficathon. Three unconnected chapters, each with a different prompt that's listed as the chapter title.





	1. Phryne still has the Antony and Cleopatra costumes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



“No.”

“Please, Jack?” Phryne’s expression was innocent. “It’s Jane’s sixteenth birthday, and she asked for a costume party. I’d match you with my costume.”

“Absolutely not,” Jack was adamant. He propped his fists on his hips, facing her. “That costume isn’t decent for adults, much less a party full of teenage girls.”

“How do you know how decent that costume is, Jack? You never actually put it on,” Phryne argued. She knew that he was right—the Antony costume from her cousin Guy’s engagement party was definitely too risqué for Jane’s birthday. If she played her cards right, however, she might get what she really wanted out of this exchange: Her triple pillar transformed into a strumpet’s… well, Jack was never a fool.

Jack tilted his head at her, giving her his best “stern inspector” look. He thought he knew what she was angling for. Phryne was an excellent poker player, but on some occasions, he could read her like a book. In this instance, he wasn’t wholly opposed—Antony was one of his favorite characters, after all—but he thought he’d make her work for it before he gave in.

“If you must have me dress up for this party, Phryne,” he said, uncompromising, “find me a costume that doesn’t leave my knees exposed.”

She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s no fun, Jack. You’d have me dress you in a gorilla suit or some such horrible thing.”

“There’s no need to go that far,” Jack could feel a smile pulling at his lips. “How about a pirate, or a military general, or something like that. There are so many options that don’t require me to be half-naked in front of those girls.”

“I’m not sure ‘those girls’ would object to you being half-naked,” Phryne muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” He’d heard her, though. His eyes widened, and he dropped his hands to his sides. It hadn’t really occurred to him that the girls might actually _want_ to see him unclothed. Teenage girls were rather terrifying—still children to his eyes, they saw themselves as women and often acted accordingly.

“Nothing, Jack,” Phryne said, amused at his horrified expression. She really was almost certain Jane’s friends wouldn’t object to seeing Jack less than buttoned up; she’d seen the way they’d eyed him on the outings where he’d acted as chaperone with her. She also, abruptly, recalled the time they’d gone to the foreshore to swim. Jack’s swimming costume was remarkably revealing, and the girls had noticed as much as Phryne had. Perhaps he had a point—covering him up (within reason) would be a fine idea.

“All right, fine,” she said. “I’ll find us costumes that are more modest. Do you promise that you’ll wear what I come up with, assuming it meets your stringent criteria?” Her eyes laughed up at him as she came closer, tucking her arms around his waist.

“I definitely won’t promise until I’ve seen it, but I do promise to keep an open mind,” he said, his arms looping around her in return. He smiled down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I know better than to give you _carte blanche_ on anything of this sort.”

“Wise man,” Phryne said, reaching up to kiss him lightly. “Still, I want to see you dressed as Antony, Jack. After all, you saw my Cleopatra. And you already know the part—you proved it to me after Ruddigore.”

Jack’s voice as he quoted was smooth and dark, “ _My heart was to thy rudder tied by th’ strings, and thou shouldst tow me after. O’er my spirit thy full supremacy thou knew’st, and that thy beck might from the bidding of the gods command me._ ”

“Oh, I am sure that I can find a way to command you,” Phryne purred. His _voice_! It never failed to arouse her, but never more so than when he quoted the Bard. Maybe that was because he loved Shakespeare’s words so much? “Perhaps this means you might allow me a… private showing of that play?”

He bent closer to murmur in her ear, “I think if you were to wear that Cleopatra costume again—” his deep voice caused goosebumps to chase themselves over Phryne’s skin “—I might be persuaded to attempt an Antony. But only for one viewer in particular.” He dropped a kiss on the soft skin below her ear. “And only if I was very well rewarded.”

“I’m sure that we can work something out, Jack,” Phryne said, slightly breathless. “Perhaps we should head upstairs,” she suggested, meeting his eyes, a smile on her lips and in her voice, “and discuss terms?”

“Lead the way, my queen,” was all he said, knowing that in this negotiation, they’d both win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s quote is from Shakespeare’s _Antony and Cleopatra_.
> 
> By the way, I also wrote a follow-up to this first chapter, [Such a Mutual Pair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374643). Y'know, in case you want to see what happens when they actually do wear those costumes. :D


	2. Sweet morning sexytimes

For once, Phryne woke before Jack. He’d had a very late night, finishing up an investigation with a series of arrests that took him to four different locations across Melbourne. And then he’d had to do paperwork before he considered himself finished for the night. She’d gone to bed herself around two o’clock in the morning, and Jack hadn’t yet been home. She was glad she’d talked him into keeping the key to 221B she’d had made for him; he would have thought it necessary to go to his own bed last night, otherwise. Instead, she had the rare opportunity to gaze at him while he was sleeping.

Jack lay on his side, his face relaxed in slumber. His hair, escaped from the pomade he wore to contain its curl, lay across his forehead and was mussed over the crown of his head. His eyelashes, long and luxuriant, swept across sharp cheekbones, and his chiseled lips were slightly open. One of his arms was slung over her waist where she lay facing him.

As he breathed quietly, Phryne peeked under the covers. He had not bothered with pajamas last night, it appeared, but had come to bed in only his smalls. Smiling, she shifted closer to him so that their bodies were aligned. Her arms were curled between them, forearms against his warm chest, and she slowly reached one hand up to lightly trace the line of his upper lip, the deep dip of his philtrum calling to her as always. At her touch, his lips pressed together and he blew a small breath out of his nose. Charmed, she moved her fingers to touch the small mole on his right cheek, and he grunted slightly in his sleep.

Snuggling closer, Phryne reached up to daintily stroke his eyebrows, one at a time, tracing her forefinger from the center of his forehead out to the ends. When he didn’t wake, she stretched up slightly to repeat her caresses with her mouth—tracing his upper lip with the seam of hers, touching his mole with the tip of her tongue, and ghosting kisses along his eyebrows.

She could tell that he was awake when his arm on her waist tightened slightly, but he didn’t open his eyes. His hand slid down her side to cup her bottom, pulling her lightly against him as he made a wordless interrogatory noise.

“Good morning, Jack,” she whispered against his forehead, her lips now tracing the faint lines that deepened there when he gave her his most disbelieving looks. “You don’t have to wake up, darling,” she said softly, “just sleep on.”

Jack made another noise, and she took that as permission to continue. Threading her fingers into his curls, she lightly scraped her nails along his scalp in the way she knew he liked. He let out a hum of pleasure, and she smiled as she traced his jawline with her lips. Mapping his features back to his mouth, she brushed her lips softly along his, back and forth, top lip and bottom. She slid her other arm under his head, combing up from his nape to tuck his face into her shoulder so that she could reach the edge of his ear. She touched it first with her fingers, tracing the whorls and stroking the soft skin of his earlobe, then followed the same lines with her lips, taking his lobe into her mouth to lightly suck it before letting it go.

He reacted to her ministrations with a soft moan and a tightening of his hand on her buttock, gathering up the satin of her negligee. The tips of two of his long fingers passed the end of her gown and, finding themselves stroking her soft skin rather than the slickness of satin, gripped again to move the satin out of the way, allowing his whole hand to find its way onto her naked buttock. His wordless noise this time was the equivalent of an “aha!”; a pleased sound that was echoed in the strokes of his fingers against her flesh. Her smile grew. She could feel his breath, warm against her neck, and the scratchiness of his morning whiskers; his other arm, which had been tucked beneath the pillow, bent to stroke the back of her head.

Phryne’s own hand on Jack’s ear had dropped to his shoulder when her mouth took over; it slid down his chest, fingernails scraping lightly over his nipple, before moving along his ribcage and back to trace the muscles alongside his spine. She used that hand to pull herself even closer, so that her breasts with their satin covering were now fully pressed against his chest. He responded by clenching his bicep and pulling her hips to his with the hand still grasping her buttock. Phryne gasped a little at the feel of him pressed against her belly, hard and ready as he often was first thing in the morning. Her hand on his back moved down, sliding under the edge of his smalls to grip the firm muscle of his buttock; at the same time she pulled the knee of her upper leg to rest atop his thigh, nestling him firmly between her legs.

She could feel her body loosening and dampening, and her breathing was becoming uneven. Jack made another small “mmmph” noise, and she felt his mouth open along her neck, licking softly at her skin and tracing her collarbone between his lips. She made an inarticulate sound of her own as she brought her hand around to loosen the string holding his smalls in place. When she had it undone, she slipped inside to find his flesh, her hand moving between his belly and his cock to circle him with her fingers. Jack’s groan this time was a little less sleepy, and she felt his hips press against her. She caressed him gently from root to tip, stopping at the apex of each stroke to circle her thumb around his head, pressing gently into the small slit at his tip and swirling in the dampness she called from him.

Jack’s hand on her bottom moved down her thigh to the back of her knee where it was draped over him, pulling her leg higher on his hip so that he could push himself more urgently into the warmth between her thighs. Phryne’s hand on his cock bumped between them, pressing into her own body as Jack’s hips continued their movements. On one more stroke down his hard length, Phryne used the back of her hand to push his loosened undergarments down below his cock, allowing it to pull away from his belly. She shifted against him, her hand between his legs guiding him into her body, open and wet and wanting.

Pressing kisses to his temple and cheek, Phryne sank down upon him, her hand moving back to his buttock to pull him closer. Jack helped as well, his hand on her knee moving to her hip to hold on as he pressed forward to impale her. Phryne felt every inch of him pushing into her, hard and hot, and her head dropped to his shoulder, her mouth opening against his skin. Jack made a sound that wasn’t much more than a heavy sigh, and she felt his head turn slightly to press his mouth to a spot below her jaw and open there, his teeth lightly gripping the tendon in her neck.

Phryne’s hand in his hair clutched hard, and the sound she made was high-pitched and pleading. Jack’s hips began to move, small, insistent thrusts that seemed to reach deeper into her body than they should. Phryne matched his rhythm, neither of them ever moving very far, creating enough friction to feel, but not enough to move them from their twined position in the middle of the bed.

After a few minutes of miniscule movements, Phryne’s thrusts became more insistent—she could feel herself climbing toward climax, but too slowly, and her body was quickly demanding more. It seemed that Jack could feel it too, because the hand on her hip moved between them, sliding into the hair at the top of her thighs to find the spot she needed him to touch. His fingers slipped and slid in the dampness there, circling and pressing her clit until her breath began whining in her throat. When her movements became more erratic, he slid one finger to either side of her nub and pinched them together. Her climax rippled through her, the nails on one hand digging into his scalp and those on the other pressing hard into his buttock. The contractions of her body around his thrusting cock sent Jack over, and he surged one last time—hard—into her, hand moving back around to push her hips against his as he came. Their groans of release were muffled against each other’s bodies; her mouth open wide upon his shoulder, his against her neck.

Panting, they stilled against each other, gripping hands opening slowly to caress, mouths relaxing into kisses. Jack’s head moved away from her neck as he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him to lay sprawled along his side. Phryne pressed a kiss to his chest, her hand on his hip stroking up his stomach to curl lightly into the soft fuzz of hair between his nipples. She tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were open, if only halfway, and he tilted his chin to look down at her.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said softly.

“I’m not,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling against her, and his smile was wicked. “If I go back to sleep, will you wake me again?”

“Anything for you, Jack,” Phryne said, snuggling close.


	3. Phryne's father doesn't show up to ruin their date in 3x01

“No magic for you tonight, then, miss?” Mr Butler planned to see the show himself on Saturday; McKenzie’s Cavalcade of Mysteries had been the talk of the town. Miss Fisher’s smile was small and smug, and Mr B smiled in return.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Mr Butler,” Phryne said, lighting the final candle in the candelabra. Phryne’s thoughts skimmed ahead to what she hoped would happen this evening, when she finally had Jack Robinson in her home for the very personal reasons that had been building over the past six months.

_She stood in the entryway, waiting. She was in very good looks tonight, her dark hair gleaming, her lips red, her feathered fascinator drawing attention to her kohl-lined eyes. Her dark spangled dress skimmed her figure and the color highlighted the luminous quality of her skin. She hoped that Jack noticed. When she opened the door to his knock, she could tell that he had._

_His eyes dilated as they skimmed over her, pausing on her legs, breasts, and shoulders before meeting her eyes. Taking off his hat, he stepped into the house and wordlessly swept her into his arms, lowering his mouth to hers. His kiss was bold and exciting—she knew that beneath that serene exterior ran a river of passion so deep she expected to drown. Her arms slid around his waist, pulling him closer as her eyes fluttered shut, the better to taste him. Neither cared that the door stood open behind him; their only thought was to feast on each other._

Smiling to herself, Phryne shook her head. These imaginings did a good job of whetting her appetite—and not for dinner—but she thought perhaps their waltz would continue more slowly. She hoped to end the evening with Jack in her boudoir, a few more of his secrets stripped bare, but she didn’t fool herself that that outcome was the most likely. Time would tell, she supposed. She could hardly wait.

* * *

Jack examined himself in the dim reflection in the glass of his office door. His new tie was rather daring. _Appropriate for Phryne,_ he thought. He’d been working hard since the night they arrested George Sanderson and Sidney Fletcher, but he was glad he’d taken the time to step out and purchase the tie. He thought it made a nice contrast to his sober gray suit.

Gathering up his hat and overcoat, he headed to St Kilda, anticipatory nerves running over his skin. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he wondered how the evening would play out. She might tell him that she’d reconsidered, and she wanted to keep him at arm’s length, preserving their working relationship, or she might tell him that all she could offer him, romantically, was one gaudy night. If it was the former, he’d understand, though his heart might never be the same. If it was the latter, he knew he’d take it, and be thankful to have even that small piece of her. He figured that the latter was the more likely possibility. He knew that she was not looking for a long-term romantic relationship, and although his own fantasies painted the two of them as partners in all things for all the days of their lives, he knew that probably wasn’t her intention with tonight’s invitation. But a man could dream.

_Jack knocked on the Phryne’s front door, one hand smoothing his tie. When Phryne herself flung the door open, he was unprepared for the way she flung herself at him, kissing him with everything in her, whispering his name. Recovering quickly, he curled his arms around her and, without breaking their kiss, moved her inside, shutting the door behind him. He turned to press her back against the inside of the front door, deepening the kiss as his hands moved to grasp her buttocks, lifting her hips against his._

Jack chuckled at his own fancy. If he was lucky, he’d get a good dinner tonight, and if he was _really_ lucky, he’d get a kiss as well. He wouldn’t hope for anything beyond that.

* * *

Jack knocked quietly at the door to 221B, and found himself smoothing his tie. Smiling a little to himself, he looked up as Phryne flung open the door.

“Jack!” Her voice was joyous, welcoming. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Good evening, Miss Fisher,” he said, his voice deep, his eyes caressing her. She looked beautiful, her hair gleaming, fascinator drawing attention to her stunning blue eyes, lips crimson and begging to be kissed. He stepped inside, wishing that he had the temerity to lean in and kiss her, even on the cheek. Instead, he handed her his hat and shrugged out of his overcoat, hanging it on the hook next to the door. She stepped up next to him—far closer than she should, as always, not that he was complaining—to place his hat on the same hook.

“I hope you’re hungry, Jack,” she said, tucking her arm through his and leading him into the parlor for a pre-dinner drink. “Mr Butler has quite outdone himself tonight.” Her smile was sweet as she turned her face up to his.

“Mr Butler’s meals are always outstanding,” Jack said, accepting the delicately green martini glass that Phryne handed him. He pulled the toothpick out and examined the olive it bisected, then took a sip of the clear liquid in the glass. It was cool and refreshing, a testament to Mr Butler’s skill at mixed drinks. Licking his lips, Jack looked over at Phryne, who’d seated herself on the chaise lounge. He moved to sit beside her, balancing the dainty glass in his big hands. He looked at her and considered his next move.

_Jack looked deeply into Phryne’s eyes. Both of them sat on the chaise, drinks in hand, wanting nothing more than to lean in to each other and let their lips speak in a way that their words had never been able to. Jack swayed toward her; Phryne’s eyelids flickered and she swayed toward him as well. When their lips met, it was a tender contact, a moment of light and gentle pressure before they broke apart, their eyes meeting again. When they moved together again, it was anything but light, nothing like gentle. Their lips clashed, all of the passion they’d been suppressing coming to a head as they pressed their bodies together and their tongues plunged together in desperation._

Jack cleared his throat. “It’s awfully quiet here tonight,” he said, damning himself for his inability to make small talk. “Where is everyone?” He lifted the green glass to his lips, taking another sip of the chilled alcohol within.

“They’re all at the Cavalcade of Mysteries,” Phryne said, her eyes dropping to Jack’s lips, glistening with the residue of his drink. His tongue came out to clean them, and she felt her thighs clench. _What would he do if I kissed him right now?_ she wondered.

_Phryne leaned forward, her tongue sweeping along his lower lip, tasting the remnants of gin martini that lingered there. Jack’s breath caught, and he reached out with the hand not holding his drink to pull her closer to him as he followed her mouth with his, pressing his tongue between her lips to taste her fully. His kiss was forceful, and she threaded her fingers into his hair to make sure that he didn’t even consider stopping._

“Is that a magic show?” Jack said. Was he imagining the messages in her eyes? He thought perhaps he should have stayed across the room; as it was, unless Mr Butler came in soon to announce dinner, he’d have a hard time standing up.

“Yes,” she agreed. “When I was a girl, it was called Callahan’s. I used to go as often as I could, and sneak in when I couldn’t afford the ticket. I learned a lot about magic, in hopes that I could truly wave a wand and change my situation.” She scoffed a little at her young self’s naiveté.

“It’s never a bad thing to learn a new skill,” Jack said, his blue eyes understanding. Smiling softly at her, he swallowed the last of his drink, dropping the olive back into the glass. When he turned to set his glass on the table, he saw Mr Butler from the corner of his eye.

“Dinner is served, miss, inspector,” Mr Butler said with his kind smile. He indicated with a sweep of his arm that they should adjourn to the dining room.

Smiling in return, Jack stood, offering his hand to Phryne to help her up. She took his hand, holding it as she drank the last bit of her cocktail. Then, pulling against his strong arm, she stood. She didn’t release his hand as they strolled, side by side, in to dinner.

* * *

Jack sat at the head of Phryne’s dining room table, replete. Mr Butler’s roast beef and potatoes had been, as always, divine. He and Phryne leaned toward each other, wine glasses to hand; Jack’s hand lay palm up on the table top and Phryne toyed with his fingers. He’d been in a constant state of mild arousal throughout the meal, and now he could feel the stroking of her fingers all the way down his body. His mind raced with the possibilities.

_Jack sat back in his chair, catching Phryne’s hand in his. Pulling lightly, he wordlessly urged her to take the two steps over and curl into his lap. She came willingly, hands going to his lapels as she tucked her body close to his. He reached up to remove the feathers from her hair and laid them on the table, one of his hands running up her back and into her hair to bring her mouth to his. Phryne’s mouth, her lipstick almost gone, tasted of red wine and roast beef; her tongue twining with his was sweet and wet and warm. Jack’s other hand on her hip roamed up to palm her breast, and Phryne arched into him, a low moan echoing from her mouth into his as her nipple pebbled against the hollow of his hand._

Blinking, Jack focused on the conversation. They had talked of many things over the course of their meal, from books and music to philosophy and politics. They found that they didn’t agree on every topic, but when they disagreed, it was not acrimonious. He was deeply, viscerally pleased by just how harmonious their conversation had been. He gazed at her, mapping her features with his eyes. She was remarkably beautiful, but it wasn’t just her exterior that attracted him. Her mind was brilliant, her wits quick, and he found that she always surprised him.

Phryne was surprisingly content to sit at the table and talk with Jack. So often, she’d found the conversational skills of the men she’d brought home to be lacking, and she’d had to try to find ways to keep them from talking. Not so with Jack. Not only was he in possession of a voice that she could listen to for hours without tiring of it, he was intelligent and sarcastically funny to boot.

She lightly traced the shape of his palm and his long fingers with her own, wishing that they were ready for more than this innocent contact.

_Phryne lifted his hand in both of hers, her fingers pressing the muscles of his palm and wrist. She met Jack’s gaze with her own as she brought his hand to her lips, slowly taking his index finger into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it before pulling it back out again, then biting softly on the pad at the tip. Jack’s breath caught, his eyes dropping to her lips, which pursed as she sucked his finger back in; she dropped one hand to his knee under the table, stroking upward to—_

The phone was ringing. Phryne turned her head to listen as Mr Butler took the call.

“Of course, constable, I’ll let him know immediately,” Mr Butler said. He appeared in the doorway to the dining room a moment later. “I am sorry, inspector, but Constable Collins is on the telephone for you. He says there’s been an incident at the Cavalcade of Mysteries.”

Phryne gasped, her eyes going wide. “Dot!”

The mood broken, Jack hastened to the telephone and Phryne stood in the entryway listening to his side of the conversation.

“Yes, constable…” Jack’s voice was businesslike, nothing like the intimate tone he’d been using during their conversation over dinner. Phryne smiled a little at the realization. “I see. Yes, I understand. A guillotine?” His eyes flew to meet Phryne’s, and they shared a small grimace. “During the show, you say? And is the scene secured? Good. All right. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He hung up, and was moving to close the distance between himself and Phryne when they both heard Dot’s frantic call from the kitchen.

“Miss! Miss Phryne!” Dot, hat and coat still on, came into the front hall, almost running in her haste. “Oh miss, it was horrible!” She stopped abruptly, seeing Jack there. “Inspector! Thank goodness you’re here. There’s been a murder.”

“We’ve just heard, Dot,” Phryne said, placing her arm around her companion’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, miss,” Dot said, her eyes shining with tears, “but that poor girl.” She looked between them. “Please, you’ll both come, won’t you?”

“Of course, Dot,” Phryne said.

“Of course,” Jack said at the same moment. They shared another warm glance.

“I’m very sorry, Jack, but we’ll have to finish our evening another time,” Phryne told him, her tone warm, her eyes promising more than her words.

“I’ll look forward to it, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, his lips quirking in his small sideways smile before he gathered up his hat and overcoat and headed off to solve a murder.


End file.
